Patio Breeze
by Slivering
Summary: Atobe and Ryoma are dating, but their relationship is nothing but one fight after another. Unwilling to give up, Atobe tries to salvage the pieces of broken love, but he can't hold on forever. Angst with a happy ending. AtoRyo.


**Patio Breeze**

* * *

 **Author's Notes:** _So… this is a mess. Like, it's actually a mess. It's such a mess that I'm super embarrassed to post this. I started this hideous fic in 2013, and after two years of random writing spurts, I'm finally done. 7000 words of shit. Don't get me wrong – not all of it's awful. But it's awful as a whole. And I apologize. I usually write things in one go, or over the course of a week, so I don't lose the flow or the big picture. I clearly didn't do that here, and the erratic work ethic really messed this fic up. However, I'm happy that I finally finished it. Now I can work on better things._

 **1.**

* * *

Mornings are dysfunctional in their house.

Ryoma is an absolutely _grump_ in the morning. Atobe watches with an arched brow as Ryoma lugs himself down the stairs, hair a messy mop on his head, and pajamas drooping over his thin shoulders. Ryoma glares at the stairwell, then at the carpet, then at the wall – and then, directly at Atobe, with such force that Atobe is forced to look away.

And Atobe is always running late. It's normally Ryoma's fault for making him stay up too late the night before.

"I have work." Atobe snaps his fingers. "Get me a coffee."

"No." Ryoma slides into the kitchen stool with a scowl. "Make your own, Monkey King."

"I don't have time." Atobe wipes at a spot on his sleek dress shoes, before adjusting his new fancy tie. He shifts impatiently in front of the mirror. "I said get me my coffee."

"Don't order me around." Ryoma sticks out his tongue.

 _Brat,_ Atobe thinks. He spins a comb through his silky hair, before making his way to the coffee machine. With much force, and grumbles about being later than fashionable, Atobe wills the coffee maker to work its magic faster. Ryoma watches with half-lidded eyes, smirking the entire time.

"You look like you're going to some party, not work," Ryoma says.

"I'm an _Atobe_." Atobe straightens up. He hastily dumps two sugars in his coffee. "We don't go around looking like wild bears."

Ryoma perks at the fight. "Are you implying something?"

"Comb your hair." Atobe clicks his mug shut, and grabs his suitcase. "I'm off. Dress nice for our date tonight."

"No."

Pursing his lips, Atobe heads for the doorway. Ryoma jumps off the stool, and decides to be extra irritating that morning. He runs up, and blocks the way to the exit.

"Move," Atobe demands, although he knows it's a pointless order. Ryoma's got that _look_ in his eyes – that look that means he's going to give Atobe a hard time. Without any warning, Ryoma launches forward, wraps his arms around Atobe's neck, and kisses him hard on the mouth. Atobe stumbles, drops his suitcase, and fumbles for Ryoma's waist.

"What the – mmff – hell," Atobe manages through his locked lips.

Ryoma breaks apart. "Morning kiss."

"I'm going to be late," Atobe grits out through his teeth.

"Late is good." The response is half-hearted, before Ryoma leans back up and presses his lips against Atobe's once again. This time, while Atobe is getting quite aroused from all of the tongue action, he knows work is more important. He pulls apart, and pushes Ryoma off of him, ignoring the glare that's shot his way.

"Ryoma," Atobe says. "Ore-sama cannot afford to be late today."

"Why not?" Ryoma scoffs. "Some big meeting?"

The clock is ticking. Atobe doesn't have time for this. With more strength then he planned, he pushes Ryoma backwards to clear the doorway. Ryoma yelps, crashes to the ground, and lands right on the steps of their front porch. There's a loud, pained, scream, before things get silent. Atobe drops his suitcase and takes a cautious look outside.

Ryoma's lying against the hard pavement of the steps. Blood drips from the side of his head and trickles down his cheek. His glare is ever prominent.

"You." Ryoma looks furious. "Are finished."

Atobe swallows. He bends down and cradles Ryoma's body into his. The injury looks bad. "I suppose I'll have to take you to the best doctor out there. This could be a serious injury."

Ryoma groans dramatically.

"I need one." He tugs at Atobe's sleeve. A grin flits on his lips. "Stay home from work today? After all, _you_ pushed me."

Atobe sighs, feels his watch tick. "If you insist."

Ryoma looks pleased. "I insist."

The young master simply turns away to his fallen suitcase. He really needs to work on making their mornings less dysfunctional, if not only for the sake of getting to work on time. He supposes it is partially his fault for pushing Ryoma down so hard, and when he sees the blood, he feels a throb of guilt in his chest. Maybe Ryoma deserved to win this one.

Ryoma tugs at his sleeve again. "Hey, after the doctors, I get to push you down too, right?"

Yeah. Or maybe not.

 **2.**

* * *

Evenings are not so dysfunctional.

When Atobe comes home from work, he's normally dead tired from ordering people to be more _royal_ (he doesn't understand how people can go around with specks of dirt on their shoes and three-month old suitcases) and his throat is hoarse from yelling. Ryoma's normally back from a tennis match with Tezuka, or simply sitting watching television on the couch.

"They were horrible." Atobe unravels his tie.

Ryoma's eyes light up when he comes in. He walks over and starts on Atobe's buttons. He can feel the smooth, pale collarbone, and his fingers itch to roam all over the paler body underneath it. He refrains.

"Maybe they were just being normal." Ryoma's fingers are nimble. "Monkey King expects too much."

"Normal?" Atobe drags a tired hand over his forehead. "They were anything but normal. I swear, they're all wild bears, each and every one of them."

Ryoma's brow arches. "You called me that yesterday morning."

"Yes. After all, you are one of _them._ "

The hands, quickly unbuttoning the dress shirt, freeze, lingering above. His eyes slant into slits. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Atobe's eyes glimmer with faint surprise at the serious rebuke. "You know." He shrugs. "Ordinary. Unroyal. Not rich."

"And that's a bad thing?" The tone is calm, but Atobe senses Ryoma's words cut deeper than the way they're said. He's a bit stunned at how angry Ryoma is. It's not as if he's saying anything out of ordinary. He always teases Ryoma about how _average_ his lifestyle is, and Ryoma usually replies with a, "At least I'm not a spoiled Monkey King like some people end up being," and that gets them into a light fight and steamy sex.

"I was just joking." Atobe rolls his eyes, pulls away from Ryoma. "Don't get so touchy."

"Touchy," Ryoma says between teeth. "So _that's_ what I am now? Ordinary, a wild bear, and now _touchy_?"

Atobe slides his belt off, loosening the waistline around his work pants. He leaves his suitcase by the front door. "Someone had a bad day." He starts on making a mug of coffee, hopefully to wake up his eyelids which feel like they're drowning. "What, did you lose your match against Tezuka or something?"

He knows he shouldn't have said that. A sharp look accentuates the anger.

"I've lost before." Ryoma's fingers curl into his palm. "That's got nothing to do with it."

"Are you going through some hormonal crisis then?" He laughs, pleased with himself, but stops short when he sees the anger fly out of Ryoma's eyes to something worse: he's upset. Atobe lets the coffee run, lets it spill over the cup and overflow the counter. He turns almost rapidly to his boyfriend, pulling him into an embrace.

"I sense that something's wrong with you." He presses his cheek into the silk mop of black tinted with green. "Perhaps I can help?"

"I sense that Monkey King thinks he's the best person in the world."

Atobe's lips flicker. "I thought a certain brat did too."

"Please." Ryoma scoffs, and yanks away, but Atobe doesn't miss the start of a smile. "As if you could be the one. Karupin's better than you. So is buchou. And Momo-senpai. And even _Fuji-senpai._ " – The insults fly smugly, but Atobe doesn't care. Maybe the Tezuka one hurts just a little, little bit, but he doesn't let it show. Ryoma doesn't mean anything by it.

"I say you let Ore-sama take you out on a date." He takes out his wallet and pats it. "My treat."

"It's always your treat," Ryoma says, but he's smiling now, hidden with his back turned away. They grab their coats, Atobe taking Ryoma's hand as they step to their porch. Outside, the night air is cool, and Atobe's lips tug upwards when Ryoma rests his head on his shoulder, mumbling insults that mean love.

They will fight – Atobe thinks – but they'll always have _this_ no matter what.

 **3.**

* * *

When Ryoma walks in from his long, long nap, the first thing he notices is _loud_ noises coming from outside the backyard. He opens the door and sees a half-built patio, construction hats strewn on the grass, and Atobe observing the scene with his hands looped into his pockets and a proud grin on his face.

"What the hell?" Ryoma rubs his eyelid. "What's going on?"

"We're building a patio." Atobe waves him over. "The best in the nation."

"Marble?" Ryoma looks put off. "We couldn't have gone for wood. Something normal."

"Normal?" Atobe looks appalled. He snakes an arm around Ryoma's waist, lurching him so their hips press together. "We've tried normal, and it never works out." He lowers his voice, even though there's no need because of the construction noise. "Remember the honeymoon I let you choose? The zoo turned out awful."

"You dumped me," Ryoma revels. "Over your fear of eagles."

Atobe flushes. "What f _ear?_ It was simply a dislike."

"Uhuh." Ryoma nods, watching the patio get built. He shivers in his pajamas, and Atobe feels an extraordinary tug in his heart, one that forces him to lean down and kiss Ryoma's full mouth with his own. He feels the startled clack of teeth, before they settle into the easy motion of deepening with each other. It feels _right_. They're relationship has been teetering lately – little by little, in the most random times.

But then, times like these swoop in, and things come back together.

Relationships thin – quaver- nearly snap… but, Atobe thinks, they can also grow so strong that they're unbreakable.

/

When the Patio's done, they sit outside at night and drink a glass of wine each, nothing more than something to warm up their blood. Ryoma clings to his sweater. Atobe notices that it's fraying, and mentally notes that he needs to get another one for him. His eyes are drooping with fatigue. He's shifting further away every time Atobe looks his way.

They had another fight. It had been stupid, but words had been said.

Now, they sit, wondering exactly where this is going.

"I was…being unreasonable," Atobe finally admits.

"You were," Ryoma says.

"But so were you." Atobe can't help it. He can't take the full weight.

The silence in unnerving. The sky is dark and cloudless, but the moon offers enough light to illuminate the city. A moment after, Ryoma scoots back over so he's sitting close to Atobe, entangling his fingers with his own.

Atobe raises a brow but doesn't speak.

"My hands were cold," Ryoma says.

Another jagged burst of compassion hits Atobe hard. He squeezes the hand, and kisses the crown of Ryoma's head. They sit like that for a while, Ryoma's head on Atobe's chest, Atobe's chin in Ryoma's hair, hands held together for warmth. An hour later, they start fighting again, and Atobe can't help but feel a sinking depression in the pit of his stomach as he yells.

Relationship can break, he reminds himself.

 _But not theirs._

 _Never, never theirs._

 **4.**

* * *

The beach feels like warmth and sun and _fun._ Atobe thinks he's almost forgotten how to have fun since his high school days. The sand sinks into the space between his toes, and he drags Ryoma by the wrist so they can go into the ocean. It's the best beach in the city, Atobe thinks with pride. He sneaks a peak at Ryoma.

Unimpressed, as usual.

But that can change.

"I do say so myself," Atobe looks down. "That my body seems to have stayed in marvelous shape despite working day and night."

Ryoma rolls his eyes. "Pale as a vampire."

"Pale," Atobe says, willing himself to stay calm. "Is a sign of royalty."

"And gray hair is too?" Ryoma looks skeptical.

"It is not g _ray._ Silver and brown."

He gets no response aside from a distinct snort. Ryoma pads away from him, and into the ocean. Atobe watches as Ryoma's feet glide into the cool water, and he stares out at the distance stretched far away. There's something in his eyes – Atobe sees – something _there_ that he can't quite comprehend. He wants it gone.

"Look." Atobe adjusts his swim shorts, and follows Ryoma into the water. "Today, we're not going to fight."

"I never start it," Ryoma shoots.

It takes all of Atobe's mental strength to not argue. Instead, he puts an arm around Ryoma's hips, and they bask in the warm of the sun. He glances back at Ryoma. Ryoma's eyes are a clear gold, deep and reflected with emotion. His skin is tan and warm against Atobe's palm. _He loves this boy_ , Atobe reminds himself, _this boy is everything he's ever wanted._

"Monkey King?" Ryoma smirks, half-bent in a frown. "Do you suck blood at night too?"

"Suck _blood?_ " Atobe's face drains of colour. "That's vile. Why would I do such a thing?"

"Vampires." Ryoma acts like he should have knowledge of this. "They do that, you know."

Atobe glares at him. Ryoma glares back.

And then, before either can really think, Atobe pushes Ryoma into the water. The boy stumbles back, and drops into the ocean with a plonk. A moment later, he comes up, twitching, soaked, and mouth curled in a familiar grin that Atobe hasn't seen in months. "You," Ryoma says, similar to the porch steps. "Are finished." He leaps up, and yanks Atobe's wrist.

"I put an expensive lotion on, so I'd appreciate if you'd-"

Atobe can't finish his sentence as his mouth goes under water. He sputters, and from under the hazy blue, he sees Ryoma's hand reaching down to help him up. With a sleek grin, he takes the hand, rolls over, and goes on top of him.

"Monkey King!" Ryoma splashes.

"You've done it now." Atobe feels ease somewhere deep inside. "Ore-sama is a grand tickler."

"A tickler?" Ryoma's eyes go huge. He tries to writhe away, but with the weight of water and Atobe's strength, it's a pointless attempt. Atobe's fingers attack him all over – under the arms, the stomach, the hips, the collarbone – Ryoma laughs, sputters on water, begs for him to stop, and laughs some more. The sound of his laughter is music in Atobe's ear.

"You're so – " Ryoma's hysterical. "Stop!"

Atobe's fingers don't stop. His lips stretch far and wide. Ryoma's eyes are full with laughter, filling with tears of desperation.

Days like this are rare – where they're both just there, engaging like they'd been at the very beginning – and Atobe won't let the day slip through his fingers. He needs these days. They help him remember what and why he loves. They've been getting rarer and rarer lately, and he can't help but grasp on to each one that comes by.

He wants to love Ryoma forever.

He wants them to be together forever.

But for some reason, no matter how hard he clings on, he can't help but feel his grip slipping right before his eyes.

 **5.**

* * *

"All you do is work."

Ryoma throws a tennis ball up and down, staring as Atobe taps away on his laptop. Atobe winces at the words, and the headache between his eyes shoots up. He hates work. And Ryoma. He glances over at him. Ryoma's dressed in sweats and a sweater, his hair unruly over his head. A _slob._ Atobe wrinkles his nose. Maybe not to other people, but for his standards it's unacceptable.

He doesn't have the energy to tell him.

Ryoma stares out the blinds, where the backyard is dark. "Wanna go out for dinner?"

"I can't." Atobe throws his wallet at Ryoma, who catches it swiftly. "Go buy something if you'd like."

"I didn't mean alo-" Ryoma stops himself. "You know what, you're right. I'll go."

"Change your clothes." Atobe absentmindedly clicks the keys, absorbed in his work. He hates work, he thinks, again. Ryoma's footsteps pound as he goes up the stairwell. A moment later, he returns, still wearing the same clothes. _Brat._ Atobe's eyes weigh down on him. He glances at Ryoma as he slips out the door.

At least he combed his hair.

As his fingers run over the keys, the clock on the wall ticks. An odd weight settles in his chest. Atobe refuses to call it guilt. He closes his laptop, takes a long shower, and changes into some nice clothes. As he combs his hair, he notices a can of half-full Ponta sitting on the dressing table. He touches it, the cool moisture pleasant against his fingers.

 _Ryoma,_ he thinks. His heart sinks to his stomach. Things need to change.

With newfound resolve, he heads for the doorway.

He knows Ryoma's favorite restaurant. He feels as if he shouldn't.

/

He finds Ryoma sitting at a table of two with Tezuka.

Bitterness swallows Atobe whole until he feels like he'll collapse. But then he reminds himself: It's not a big deal. Ryoma's friends with Tezuka. It's simply two friends going out for dinner. The bitterness fades, but the sharp pangs of pain are still there. He wonders if he should interrupt. He wonders if he should walk away and pretend he didn't see.

He doesn't have time to decide.

Ryoma sees him. His eyes go round, and his mouth tilts into a frown.

Atobe shrugs, and turns away. His cheeks burn. He'll just go home and sleep. He's tired anyway. He doesn't know why he came. As he goes to open the door, Ryoma slides in front of him, blocking the doorway.

"Don't," Ryoma says. "Stay. Sit with us."

Atobe's tie is choking him. He sees Ryoma blink rapidly.

"Are you…certain?" Atobe finally asks. He feels deflated all over, like a balloon finally out of steam.

Ryoma stares at him, hard.

"Yeah." He sounds sad, kind of. "Buchou will be glad to see you too."

There's a long moment of silence. The door opens and closes behind Atobe, the whoosh of wind cool on his nape. He decides to hang on.

"Alright." He flashes a smile. "Ore-sama will treat everyone to the finest dinner."

Ryoma rolls his eyes, and follows. Atobe sees the trace of a smile that's not quite complete.

 **6.**

* * *

The front door opens, then slams shut.

"That's enough, okay?" Atobe throws off his dress shirt, hanging it over the chair. He slides the open laptop on the dining table underneath his arms, taking off for the stairs. "I shouldn't have come. You were obviously having a better time with your captain."

Ryoma kicks off his shoes. "You're an asshole."

"Please don't use such crude language." Atobe takes the stairs two at a time. "You might as well go live with your buchou now. It certainly wouldn't matter to me."

It would matter, of course. It would cut deep into his heart, but he doesn't dare say that.

"It was your fault." Ryoma huffs. He bounds up the stairs behind Atobe. "You're so insecure, and you take it out on me."

The words slice away at his emotions, but Atobe refuses to acknowledge them. His fingers slide up the stairwell railing. He feels Ryoma's presence beside him, quietly following. He gets an extraordinary anger to just shove him out of his life. He wills himself to control that anger, and instead continues his journey up the stairs.

When they reach the top, Ryoma grabs his wrist. "You're being ridiculous."

Atobe's eyes flare. "I _came_ because I thought you would need company. Not to see you drool over Tezuka."

"I wasn't – " Ryoma's eyes slant. "I don't even drool over _you._ "

He appreciates the attempt at humour, but the tension still hangs thick in the air. Ryoma's looking at him with his brows creased, like he can't understand what to do anymore. Atobe feels the same way. He knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he's wrong about Tezuka. But it's hard when he sees them act so close to each other, like they've known one another for all their lives.

"I want Tezuka out of your life," Atobe finally says.

Ryoma's eyes grow dangerous. "I think you need to cool down. Take a bath or something."

"Not everyone spends their time using cheap bath salts to ruin their skin pores."

"Stop acting like I'm lower than you." Ryoma's cheeks flush. " _Cheap_? I'm not going to waste a million dollars over some stupid company when one for $40 can give me the same thing." He jabs Atobe's side with his elbow, smoothly moving past. "Get over yourself."

This time, Atobe's the one grabbing his wrist. "I think you're the one who needs to get over _yourself_."

"What did I do?" Ryoma says steadily. "What have I done to wreck our relationship?"

" _Everything,_ " Atobe says. He grip around his laptop tightens. "Everything you do is breaking apart our relationship. If you could just listen to what I say, do what I tell you – everything would be perfect. But no. Instead, you go around throwing yourself to other guys, wearing the stupidest clothes, saying the stupidest things – "

Ryoma's face goes pale. "Throwing myself at other guys?"

"Yes." Atobe's mind spins. He's not sure what he's saying anymore. "You know, like, a whore?"

" _What?_ " Ryoma's growls low in his throat. There's a pain in his eyes that Atobe can't quite identify. "I've never done a thing with anyone but you. How the hell do you get these ideas?"

Atobe sneers. "Don't try to tell me you haven't fucked Tezuka at least once. I saw the meaningful glances you guys kept exchanging during the din-" He can't finish his sentence. Ryoma's fist goes out and connects with his lower lip, harsh and compact. Pain sears through his mouth, but before he can say another word, another punch snaps his head back.

He stumbles backwards. The laptop slips from his grip.

Before he knows it, he's falling down a long case of stairs, hurtling to the ground. He feels a sharp pain in his head, but before he can comprehend _anything,_ black dots dart into his vision and cloud over his mind. The last thing he feels before his vision fades out is Ryoma's hand pushing his hair back to check for the blood.

 **7.**

* * *

Atobe wakes up in the hospital. Everything around him is white. A gauze is wrapped around his head, which throbs insistently. He touches it briefly, before he exhales. He doesn't know why he's here. He searches for his phone. He needs to call his personal doctor, who makes the finest medicine in the nation.

The door clicks open.

Ryoma stares at him, and swallows.

Atobe stares back.

"Um." Ryoma shifts uncomfortably. "You got a concussion."

"I figured." Atobe can't stand the guilty look on Ryoma's face. The events of the night before come rushing back, and even though he's the one lying in a hospital bed with his lip split, nose previously bleeding, and head damaged, he's pretty sure everything he said was much worse. Atobe straightens up.

"Ore-sama wants his cell phone."

Ryoma silently goes to his bag and hands him the device. Atobe watches him carefully.

"I didn't know you could fight."

"I can't." Ryoma rolls his eyes. "It was instinct."

Atobe licks his lips. There's a rough spot from where Ryoma punched him. "I suppose violence is necessary in certain occasions."

Ryoma just looks at him, eyes tired, smile wilted. Atobe's heart throbs, and in one swift motion, he pulls Ryoma towards him. Ryoma inhales in surprise, but slowly lowers his head to rest on Atobe's chest. Atobe can hear his breathing, gentle and steady with his own. His fingers curl around Ryoma's back.

"I don't really – " Atobe shakes his head, and coughs. "We should try to start over."

Ryoma's head is snug against the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry. I feel…guilty."

Atobe feels too much compassion swallow over him. "The feeling is…ah…mutual."

Ryoma snickers under his breath, and Atobe's arms tighten around him, until he's pretty sure he's compressed the boy to shrink smaller. Ryoma's hands dig into Atobe's hair, and he plants a kiss on his lips.

"Ow." Atobe pulls back.

"Your lip?"

"Yes." Atobe frowns.

Ryoma smiles, and his eyes flicker with light. "I got you good. Heh."

Atobe scoffs. "I was caught off guard."

Ryoma only snickers, and Atobe relaxes at the sound. A moment later, Ryoma steps out of his arms, and stares at the ground. His brows draw together, and Atobe gets the feeling Ryoma still has something to say, something he can't seem to spit out. He reaches for his hand, and squeezes hard.

"What is it?" Atobe asks.

Ryoma flinches at the words. He swallows hard, and opens his mouth:

"It's just….um…"

Atobe feels Ryoma's hand tense, and notices the sudden, forced smile on Ryoma's face.

"Your….uh…" Ryoma manages a half-hearted smirk. "Your laptop broke."

Maybe if it had been yesterday, and they hadn't just spent the past few minutes apologizing for their behaviour, Atobe might have been mad. But right now, he doesn't care about the stupid laptop with the stupid files and the stupid documents – he's not mad about a piece of artificial technology. But he's mad because he _knows_ Ryoma was going to say something else first.

"Yeah?" Atobe asks, and he fails to hide the snark in his tone. "Is that all?"

Ryoma eyes slide up to meet his face. "Yes."

Atobe's teeth press together. "You sure?"

There's a quiet moment of revelation. Then, Ryoma's soft voice breaks the silence.

"Yeah." He sounds confident; too confident. "I'm sure."

And Atobe is sure too.

Sure that Ryoma's lying.

 **8.**

* * *

For once, the morning is not dysfunctional.

Atobe is pretty sure that's because he doesn't have work. He lies in bed, listening to the thrumming of the air conditioner. His head is propped on a mountain of pillows, and another pile of blankets swallow him whole. Sunlight soars from the window and warms his face. He itches to get back to work, but the doctor's note specifically says he needs a week of rest.

Ryoma is adamant about the rest.

"You know," Atobe drawls. "I can assign a servant or a maid for those… _jobs_ you insist on doing."

Ryoma snorts, and puts the balanced tray of breakfast on the night table beside Atobe. "And are the servants going to dot the pancakes with smiles?" Ryoma points smugly to his work of art. Atobe personally thinks it looks like a big blob of syrup, but Ryoma actually looks _proud_ of the atrocity, so he manages a smile.

"Well, that's true." Atobe pokes at the pancake with his fork. It's soft. "I suppose they wouldn't put all this care and thought into it." He doesn't add, _but at least they'd taste good._ He isn't that cruel. Just painfully honest. Or, at least, that's what he tells himself.

Ryoma's smile grows smugger. "Ch', you wouldn't know care and thought if it hit you in your precious face."

Atobe arches a perfect brow. "At least I _have_ a face worthy of being called precious."

Ryoma nods solemnly. "Too bad the mole ruins it all."

Indignation shoots through. "My mole is one of my finest qualities, and it is considered an honor and a mark of beauty-" He stops when Ryoma laughs, and suddenly feels very embarrassed. Maybe he should stop with his whole intellectual act, and just talk normally like everyone else.

"You're so stupid." Ryoma climbs up on the bed next to him.

Atobe can't help but feel incredibly insulted. "Are you in the mood to make fun of me this morning?"

Ryoma sits back on the pillow, and snuggles up next to him. "Yes," the boy says, without batting an eye. Atobe grunts, and Ryoma wraps his arms around his middle, pressing his nose into his side. The sunlight basks over them, and Atobe's shoulders sink back down onto the mattress. He carefully manoeuvers the breakfast tray back to the table, jumping at the distraction from the rather gross yet thoughtful pancakes.

"Not hungry?" Ryoma says, his sharp eye catching the distinct wrinkle on Atobe's face.

"Not really," Atobe says, just as smoothly. "Being pushed down staircases by brats _does_ ruin one's appetite, after all."

"Me? The brat?" Ryoma gives him a look. "You're the spoiled one."

Atobe scoffs. "I prefer to call it 'enlightened to more royal experiences than most'."

"You prefer to call it that _because_ you're a brat."

"Nonsense."

Ryoma must realize that this conversation is literally going nowhere, because he doesn't reply. Instead, he swiftly sits upright again, and slides off the bed. Atobe frowns at the lack of pressure around his abdomen from when Ryoma had wrapped his arms around him, but has too much pride to tell Ryoma to come back.

"Where are you going?" he manages to miff out as Ryoma heads to the door.

Ryoma stops at the door entrance, and turns around. He has a half-smile on his face.

"I'm going over to the café and getting you a bagel."

Atobe frowns. "But the pancakes-"

"Taste like hell," Ryoma finishes.

Before Atobe can comment on this new sense of maturity, Ryoma is out the door with only his pounding sneakers as a sign of his previous presence. Atobe stares at the empty doorway, and feels a claw of guilt in his stomach. He glances down at the plate of soppy pancakes and Ponta can and the clawing gets worse.

With newfound resolve, he picks up the plate and stabs his fork into the pancake. He forces a bite into his mouth, and chews slowly.

It makes him want to gag. It tastes like an old dishrag. It smells like soap.

Atobe vows to finish all of it by the time Ryoma comes back.

 **9.**

* * *

Atobe stares at the frayed string on the end of Ryoma's sweater. He really _does_ need to get him some new clothes, if only to look presentable in front of the public eye. He stares at the long, thin, nearly invisible string – and wonders if he should secretly snap it off with a scissor. But the thought sends nausea up his throat.

The string is like their ever-treading relationship. One smooth cut and it scatters to the ground.

Maybe it had been foolish to think things had changed. Ever since Atobe had come back from the hospital, they had been so sappily happy. Atobe snorts to himself – s _appily happy._ He's practically a poet now. But the moment Atobe started work, and the routine fell back into place, the tension returned as thick as the smog from a forest fire.

Atobe taps at his laptop, and takes a sip of his beer. The open window blows cool air against his neck, and he stretches to ease the tense aches of his muscles.

After a moment, he says, "You having fun there?"

Ryoma glances at him from where he's been staring at his Ponta. His eyes slant. " _You_ having fun?" His teeth grit, and Atobe looks up, momentarily surprised at the fire in his voice. Ryoma stands up abruptly, and the fake-smirk slides right into a frown. "Do you realize that you do nothing but go to work, do more work at home, while occasionally making remarks about my lifestyle?"

Atobe sighs. His head throbs. "Ryoma, I'm not in the moo—"

"You're damn well _never_ in the mood."

"I'm _working_ -"

"I'm going to throw your stupid laptop into a ditch."

Atobe's back stiffens, and his eyes narrow. "Don't even think about it," he says, voice dangerously low. "You already throttled my other laptop after you pushed me down the stairs because I was simply stating a truthful fact that you were a –" He stops, and bites his lip.

Ryoma's jaw tightens. "Say it."

Atobe stares at him flatly. "A whore," he finally says.

Ryoma's eyes darken, and his fingers dig into the palms of his hand. "Fuck you," he spits out, the rage rolling off of him in waves. "Fuck you Atobe." He turns around, and yanks his jacket off of the hanger in the closet. Atobe feels a pang of regret, but it's nothing compared to the immense _fatigue_ he feels over the argument.

"Don't be a drama…prince."

Ryoma doesn't laugh at the attempt at humour. He just stares at Atobe, eyes the colour of the golden sun, and yet not warm at all. "You're jealous," he says finally, simply. "You're jealous of Tezuka." His mouth curls into a smirk that barely manages to stay on his face. "Should be too. After all, at least _he_ can make time for a dinner night on a Saturday evening."

And with that, Ryoma slams the door shut, disappearing out of sight.

Atobe stares at it. So Ryoma's going out for dinner with Tezuka.

And he can't help it anymore. He blinks back tears, and hurtles his laptop at the nice row of statues decorating the kitchen counter. All the glass shatters, spilling over the countertop and clattering to the floor. Atobe steps through it, and sharp pain explodes through his socks and into the soles of his feet.

Funny. He kept worrying about the string finally snapping.

Blood seeps over his white socks.

It had never occurred to him that it had already snapped.

 **10.**

* * *

"It's over," Ryoma says.

Atobe's hand hovers above his coffee mug. "What?"

Ryoma stands on the bottom step of the stairwell. He holds a large duffle bag in his left hand. "I'm sick of you," he says. "It's not like it matters…" He bites his lip, and looks at the ground. "We were already over before this."

Atobe gawks. His coffee looks brown and ancient. "We're not over," he says.

"Yes, we _are._ " Ryoma spreads his hands. "Look at us. We don't deserve each other."

"I – " Atobe pinches his nose. "I'm sorry about what I said last night."

Ryoma's face darkens. "Sorry doesn't cut it. Not this time."

It's too difficult to accept this. Atobe has spent the past year trying to salvage the remains of their relationship, and now Ryoma was giving up? Just like that? Red hot anger shoots through him, and his trembling hand causes coffee to spill over the rim.

"Listen to me," he says.

"No." Ryoma shifts. His eyes are sad. "I get it. I get that we were supposed to work." He pauses, and lets his gaze finally land on his broken beloved. "But we didn't."

It's not real. It's not true. It's not happening. Atobe shakes his head, and tries to remain upright. He loves this boy with the gold eyes, but he hates him too, and the line is too fine for him to tell if he should give up or hang on. But Ryoma's already made up his mind. There's nothing left. Just broken pieces and good memories.

"Did you take all your stuff?" Atobe asks in a hoarse voice.

"Yeah." Ryoma nods. "I might come around again if I realize I forgot something."

"Yes." Atobe presses his lips together. The coffee is cold, but his heart is colder. "Do stop by. We don't have to be strangers."

"Maybe," Ryoma says. "But I think we already are."

Ryoma passes by the kitchen, and stops short in front of Atobe. He leans up on his tip toes, and gives him a brief, light kiss on the lips. Atobe waits for more – for the _This was just a joke, loser! –_ but it doesn't come. The kiss is a goodbye. Then he's gone. The door closes behind him, and Atobe is left with his hand on his lips and the reminder of a love that never was.

A part of him aches, but another part of him, deep in the core of his buried lies, feels the unmistakable presence of relief.

 **11.**

* * *

He doesn't stop by again.

Atobe counts the days on his calender, wondering if two months is too much to still be hopeful. Part of him hopes that Ryoma will come back to him, wide eyed, and pleading: _I realized we were better off together, then alone._ But nothing of that sort happens. Months turn into years, and Ryoma fades into an imprint in the back of his mind.

Atobe doesn't date again though.

Not because Ryoma scarred him, or because he can't let go, but because he's realized that he doesn't need a partner. He's too selfish for one, and too focused on his career to make it work. He spends long hours on his laptop at night, and his mornings are quiet and calm. His job takes up his afternoon.

Atobe keeps himself busy.

One time Jiroh stops by, and devours his kitchen.

"You have to pay for that," Atobe says shortly.

Jiroh has a donut stuffed into his puffed cheeks. "But you're rich," he whines.

"Still."

"So cold." Jiroh whimpers. "No wonder Ryoma left you."

Jiroh apologizes right after, saying _he was half drunk on sugar_ but Atobe doesn't believe him. He gets it now. It's not other people who are the problem. It's him. Stiff. Unwilling. Pretentious. Self-righteous. Insecure. Atobe hates himself on a lot of days, but his hate only fuels him to work harder. He gets richer and richer, and sadder and sadder.

He doesn't go out anymore, and his friends have stopped calling.

His laptop is his soulmate, and his work is his heaven.

When evenings are warm and he has alcohol in his cellar, he sits on the patio and drinks himself to sleep. On one particular night, he sits on one of the fancy layout chairs he bought, and swallows down tasteless beer. He's drowsy and half-lidded and warm when he sees a figure standing on the edge of the patio.

He sits straight up. "Ryoma." He blinks.

Ryoma just stares at him. He's a little taller. His eyes are narrower. His hair is a bit longer.

"I just thought I should stop by," he says.

Atobe slurs his words. He's shocked. "Why?"

"Are you drunk?" Ryoma wrinkles his nose. Then he shakes his head. "Of course you are."

"I'm not drunk," Atobe says, and really, he's not. He's just warm and sad and a little off balance. "I'm a billionaire."

"I know." Ryoma offers a smirk. "I've seen you on the news."

"I'm rich!" Atobe shouts.

Ryoma sighs. "I wanted to see you since I was in town. And I figured… I wasn't even sure if you still lived here, but I thought I'd see." His hands are shoved in his pockets. He arches one brow. "I don't think there's any point in talking if you're drunk."

"You left me," Atobe says accusingly.

"I know." Ryoma rolls his eyes. "Good thing too."

"You were a distraction. I'm only rich because I don't have you anymore to bother me."

Ryoma snorts. "Or you don't have any other friends either. Do you pick up your calls?"

"I changed my number," Atobe drawls. "Friends are useless."

He takes another swig of beer, and his veins fill with heat. His eyes are glazed, and the sunset behind him looks beautiful. He remembers touching Ryoma all over, his hands, his body, his lips. It makes him unbelievably sad – and the ache for human contact brims to the surface. He gulps on more beer.

"Give me that," Ryoma says sharply. He takes the beer out of his hands. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Nothing is wrong."

"Clearly." Ryoma frowns. "You're a mess."

"I've got everything I've ever wanted. My own company, solitude… I'm publishing a book next year."

Ryoma sits next to him on the patio, and stretches his legs. Atobe remembers faint memories when they were together on this patio, huddled together, laughing or fighting or both. Ryoma emits warmth, and he wraps an arm around Ryoma's shoulders. Ryoma stiffens under the touch, but doesn't protest.

"I missed this," Atobe says.

"Yeah." Ryoma sounds faraway. "I did too."

They play a game of tug of war. Atobe moans sorrowfully about how Ryoma left him, then brags about how good his life is going. Ryoma accepts the words, knowing Atobe is drunk and confused and bitter. But being drunk doesn't mean everything is false. In fact, the words Atobe says when he's drunk are truer than anything he's ever said sober.

Which is why it surprises Ryoma when he says: "Kiss me."

"I- " Ryoma swallows. "No. I'm not doing this again."

He starts to stand up, but Atobe pulls him down again. "Fine, fine," he says. "I'll kiss you." Ryoma pushes him away, stubbornly, but Atobe hovers over him with beer breath and sparkly gray eyes, and Ryoma remembers too much. He can't resist the pull, and when Atobe's lips meet his, he doesn't push away.

He's warm, and it's silly, but Ryoma feels like he's falling in love all over again.

Atobe pulls back. "You taste good."

"You taste like beer," Ryoma says, but his heart shakes.

"No I don't. I taste great."

"You're drunk." His voice wobbles.

"Yeah. I am." Atobe leans in for another kiss, and this time Ryoma leans in too. It's too much to handle. Memories hurtle through his brain like a rocket, and his heart aches so hard and so deep it _hurts._ He wants it to all go back, before everything broke apart, before they lost each other in all of their flaws.

Atobe's breath warms his ears. "But you're not."

Ryoma freezes.

"You're not drunk," Atobe says, and Ryoma thinks maybe Atobe isn't as drunk as he first thought. "You're not drunk. You want this _too._ "

"No, I-"

"You want this," Atobe says, and they are words that Ryoma can't deny. And he doesn't know what it is – maybe it's the patio breeze, or the passion in Atobe's eyes, or the old flame that never truly went out – but Ryoma reaches for Atobe's collar and pulls him close.

"Yeah," he says. Things feel right for once. "Yeah. I want this."

 **END**


End file.
